And soon, soon, soon,
Crowning the floor of the land and the sea,
Shall be wrought the dome of Noon.
The burning sapphire dome,
With solemn imagery; vast shapes that stand
Each like an island ringed with flashing foam,
Black-purple mountains, creeks and rivers of light,
Crags of cleft crystal blazing to the crest:
Vast isles that move, that roam
A tideless sea of infinite fathomless rest.
Thus shall it be this noon:
And thus, so slowly, slowly from its birth
In the long night's dark swoon,
Through the long morning's trance, sweet, vague, and dim,
The Sun divine above
Doth build up in us, Heaven completing Earth,
Our solemn Noon of Love.
IV.
How green the earth, how fresh and fair!
The thrushes are singing:
What rapture but to breathe this air!
